


Panic

by DollopheadedMerlin



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Gen, Panic Attacks, Trigger Warning: Anxiety Attacks, trigger warning: panic attacks, vague suicidal thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-18
Updated: 2016-01-18
Packaged: 2018-05-14 16:12:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5749696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DollopheadedMerlin/pseuds/DollopheadedMerlin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything is right in the world and yet all Merlin feels is a dreadful wrongness about him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Panic

For Merlin, smiling was always easy, natural even. Even when the sun was clouded over and it seemed as though it would never appear again, it was his job to smile, for the lot of them.

He was always there, a grin plastered between his cheeks, in the darkest of times. He was expected. He was the one to clean up the mess and carry everyone else through. Even if he was decaying on the inside, his outside would be bright and optimistic.

As time went on, Merlin began to notice this in himself. He began to realize the differences between these smiles and his own, genuine smiles, and, with a grave depression, he also realized that one alarmingly outweighed the other.

Recently though, he truly was happy. Morgana had vanished for the time being, last seen failing to defend her stolen kingdom. It had been many nights and many days since the life of his king had been threatened. For a short while, he relished the tranquility of just being a normal servant for a while.

However, as the days turned into weeks and the weeks turned to a month, the boy found himself twitching. His fingers itched with boredom as though he _wanted_ something horrid to happen. During a meeting with a foreign king, the royals discussing a negotiation regarding trade laws, Merlin looked down at his hands, finding them in a jitter, shaking ever so slightly. He looked up at King Ban and he began to watch the way he moved, the way he spoke, the way he looked at each man in the room. Though he would never wish doom upon any in the council chambers that evening, there was a small part of him that wanted him to strike out, wanted this foreign king to be yet another threat to his master.

But he was not. He came and went without incident, save a small dispute about trading routes. Strangely, it irked Merlin. He smiled when the king left and it was one of his rare true smiles. However, his hands kept shaking, and he wrung out his fingers as he watched the man leave. He wished things would just return to normal.

A day later he realized exactly what that meant; that danger was normal. It was routine for him to be on edge, expecting enemies around every corner, within strangers, within friends. It made his stomach churn. He looked away from the succulent food as he placed it down on Arthur’s table. He wouldn’t even think to try and take some of the king’s meal away.

“Merlin, did you steal one of my sausages?” Arthur asked.

Merlin blinked at him with wide eyes. He knew he hadn’t, knew none were lost. For once, the king’s missing meal truly was that; missing. Of course, Arthur would blame him for anything and everything when given the chance.

 

 

He trudged through the forest, letting his arms sway a bit. Gaius wasn’t exactly up to seeking rare herbs these days. Merlin didn’t mind though, not now when everything was so grand. So, he walked with a bit more vigor than on the days when he was once strung between all kinds of duties and respects.

After an uneventful day of scavenging for obscure roots and blossoms, Merlin sat himself down on a felled tree and relieved the blisters on the soles of his feet. He let out a content yet tired sigh and slowly his eyes drifted close. For a moment, he reckoned, he could relax.

The snap of a twig had his eyes shooting open and he stiffened on the spot. Upon hearing it again, he slowly turned his head. The boy jumped when he saw movement, only to realize that it was naught but a young hart that had disrupted the silence, and yet he watched with round eyes as the beast pranced away, muscles still rigid and mind still on edge.

Taking a deep breath to collect himself, he slowly tore his eyes away from the woods around him and climbed to his feet, taking the first step if his short journey home.

 

The whole way back he felt as though he was being followed. He often was followed, after all. Ever since Morgana turned against them, numerous people had found out from her that Merlin was a hazard when the king was involved. No one ever managed to make it to Arthur without getting past him. Thus, Merlin walked with haste and diligence, frequently looking over his shoulder. It had been too long since the last time he’d been confronted. An attack against him was long overdue.

Halfway home, however, and Merlin began to question himself. Whatever had happened to Morgana, it was clear that she was incapacitated for the time being. There was no word of her for nearly a year now and even her meager populous of followers had seemed to die out. All had been well in Camelot for many months. There was nothing he needed to worry about.

For the rest of the way, Merlin focused on trying not to look over his shoulder. For a few paces, it worked. He strolled through the gates without a worry or a dark thought. But his doubts slowly crept back into his head. Surely, after such a long stretch of peace, something was bound to happen. Perhaps the one day that he let his guard down would be the dawn of Morgana’s return.

Stealing a glance at the path behind him, he internally cursed himself. There was no one there. Of course there was no one there. Morgana was missing, possibly even dead.

He looked again. He kicked a stray rock on the path in frustration. She was dead. He settled on it. But he looked once more, letting his gaze linger for a moment longer just be sure that the street lacked any suspicious characters. Perhaps it wasn’t Morgana that was following him. Perhaps it was a new face he should have been looking for. What if the Druids had lost faith in his destiny? Maybe they would turn against him and take Camelot by force, ensuring the everlastingness of the war between sorcerers and those who opposed them. If that were to happen, none would find peace; the roles would merely be switched, all those who lacked magic being discriminated against by those who were more powerful.

In one jerking movement, he turned around, eyes darting over the landscape, trying to spot anything strikingly abnormal or dangerous. After confirming that he wasn’t, in fact, being followed, he realized that his breathing had become labored. Turning back towards his route, he took a voluminous breath to calm his nerves and carried on.

 

When he arrived back at the palace, it was late. He shook his head to try and clear his muddled thoughts as he dropped off Gaius’s freshly picked herbs. Then, he hastily found his way to the kitchens and met Arthur in his chambers with dinner.

 

“You’re late,” were the first words to leave his master’s mouth.

“Sorry,” he murmured, trying to edge into the room with his loaded plate.

Arthur fiddled with a quill on his desk for a moment longer before he wandered over to his dining table. Meanwhile, Merlin couldn’t understand why his hands were shaking as he placed the meal before the king.

“You never showed up to serve my lunch,” Arthur commented, not even looking at his servant.

“Sorry,” Merlin said again, eyes downcast. “I was out picking herbs.”

“For Gaius?” the king questioned, eyebrows raised as he eyed his first bite of food.

Merlin gave him a short nod. “Yes.”

Arthur looked up at Merlin’s short answer, food causing his left cheek to puff out. He chewed for a moment, taking in his servant’s respectful stance. “What’s wrong with you?”

Merlin blinked. “Sorry?”

“You’re standing there looking like startled deer.” He leaned forward, narrowing his eyes, causing an unexpected chill to run up Merlin’s spine. “What did you do?”

Merlin’s mouth gaped for a moment. “I—I—nothing!”

Arthur hummed unbelieving and leaned back to continue his meal. Merlin couldn’t explain his secluded feeling as he began to tidy up the room. This was always how it was; Arthur dining whilst Merlin cleaned. No part of him could comprehend why he felt so uneasy.

“You’re . . . unusually quiet this evening, Merlin,” Arthur mused with his back to the boy as he readied his bed sheets.

Merlin froze as if he were worried about Arthur uncovering some secret. He didn’t know why though. He wasn’t scared or paranoid, but he _felt_ like he was.

“What is it that you’re thinking about?”

“Just . . .” But Merlin couldn’t finish. He wasn’t truly thinking about anything. His mind was just racing with feeling s and unwarranted concerns. “. . . the upcoming winter, I suppose.” He smiled and, for the first time since things had been well, it was a false one.

He saw Arthur nod as he approached his side and his empty plate. “We’ll need to go hunting soon,” Arthur thought aloud, standing up.

Merlin nodded but his expression portrayed his disinterest. His eyes, however, were swimming with confusion towards what he was feeling. Wordlessly, he followed Arthur to the changing screen and collected his soiled garments as they were strewn over the barrier.

“I see you’re thrilled,” Arthur said sarcastically as he reappeared from behind the screen.

“Yeah,” Merlin replied, stalling so that he could come up with a proper retort, his course of thought being strangely askew, “well, aren’t I always?”

“You’re slow today, Merlin,” Arthur shot back, flashing him a victorious smile as he sat on the edge of his bed, “too distracted by . . . well, anything that’s glimmers in the light, I suppose.”

Merlin merely huffed, finding the jibe strangely offensive. Throughout the day he’d found it strikingly worrying how much he questioned his own judgement. Perhaps, he mused, Arthur was right in that his wit was barely existent.

“Merlin?” Arthur questioned, eyeing his servant strangely.

The boy jumped back to reality. “Sorry,” he mumbled, blowing out the candles and muttering a short, “goodnight, sire,” before slipping from the room.

 

Paranoia plagued Merlin as he lay awake. Sleep seemed so far away in comparison to the thoughts that troubled him. The threat that Morgana might still be alive and simply biding her time irked him, made him shy away from every unfamiliar face. The idea that she truly was gone and that his concerns were all in his head made him question his judgment.  Arthur’s words echoed in his mind, taunting him. He knew his jeers were all in play but the more of them he remembered, the farther back into his memory he looked, the less he believed they were feigned. All the times his alleged mental disability was used against him in fun, turned into truthful discriminatory remarks and he imagined that they must be true for he had missed the reality in them for all this time. He had thought they were jokes and snide comments, but now he saw that they may have possibly been true.

 

Eventually, Merlin had fallen into a fitful sleep and awoken late to serve the king’s breakfast. In his rush, he forgot about his troubling thoughts, plastering his usual, muscle memory smile on his face. For the most of the day, Merlin barely felt anything. He just went through the motions; attending to Arthur at training, serving him lunch, standing at the ready during his council meeting, and the like. As he waited on his master, lockstep and vacant, he didn’t notice Arthur’s strange glances and worried observations. In fact, he barely even saw his friend. During this time, all his life was work. That’s all he could think to do. It seemed to him that Arthur did not care. He was just an employer, of course. He didn’t care about Merlin. He thought he was an idiot. He said he was useless. He only kept him as a servant out of pity. But this did not faze Merlin, not on this day. It had always been like that, hadn’t it?

 

“The stables need mucking out,” Arthur said halfheartedly as he and Merlin entered his chambers.

“Isn’t that what stable boys are for?” Merlin asked, but the worlds rolled uninterestingly off of his tongue, like he wasn’t giving his retorts much effort anymore.

“Not today. It’s your turn. Stable boys need a break sometimes, you know.”

“And servants don’t?” Merlin questioned, raising an eyebrow.

“Would you rather it be the stocks?”

Normally, Arthur would have expected Merlin to make some variety of sarcastic comment about how lovely the stocks might be this time of year or even pretend to mull over his options, considering the pros and cons of either situation, but, to his dismay, the boy merely chewed on his bottom lip and resigned to do his stinking chore.

The king watched his servant leave, eyeing the slightly less bouncy way he walked and stiffness in his shoulders. He waited a few minutes, recalling Merlin’s behavior throughout the day and the night before. Then, when he was sure that Merlin would have been far from his rooms, he too left his chambers for another appointment.

 

For the first time all day, Merlin was alone with his thoughts. It was haunting.

He tried the best he could to keep his mind off of things, off of everything, but he couldn’t. There was little to distract him. Tyr seemed to have returned home to his mother and the horses weren’t very excitable after a long day (they had performed horseback battle tactic procedures during the knights’ training). Thus, there was nothing but the rustle of the hay and the stench of droppings for Merlin to occupy himself and that could hardly last long.

He vaguely became aware of his trembling hands about halfway through his labor. He tried valiantly to encourage himself to keep cleaning but his thoughts refused to remain lighthearted, always venturing down a darker path.

The more quickly he worked, the sooner he could clean himself. The faster he shoveled the less irritated Arthur would be. Oh, Arthur would be cross if he didn’t finish his chores. Or perhaps he’d not even notice his absence. Perhaps the stables were just a ploy to relieve him of Merlin’s annoyance. Maybe it always had been. He didn’t want Merlin around so he’d send him on miniature missions the first chance he got. Merlin figured he had other friends to entertain if this was true, but then he noticed that he hadn’t talked to Gwen lately and that the knights were far closer to Arthur than himself. Perhaps that was Arthur’s doing as well. Was it possible that he was talking about him, ruining what little reputation he had. He did often accuse Merlin of being a drunk and he knew of the dishonoring circumstances of his birth. Arthur possibly may have gone and told the whole kingdom to shun him for these things.

He dropped his tools and backed away, holding his shaking hands out as if in surrender. He was nearly done. It was good enough. He needed to leave. He needed to talk to someone. He needed to talk to Gaius. Gaius still cared for him, brought him dinner, kept him well. Gaius was the only man Arthur couldn’t touch.

He ran to the door and paced back to the castle, not even realizing the amount of times he checked to see if he was being followed. He hopped up the steps and eyed every passing servant with a cautious glance. Then, he stopped short at his mentor’s door.

He told himself to enter but his legs wouldn’t move. What if Gaius was working? He couldn’t just barge in. Whatever awful things were being said may have found their way to Gaius and, though the old man knew the truth, perhaps he was giving in to the king’s accusations; a klutz, a drunk, an idiot, a bastard.

Slowly, he pushed the door open. There was no one inside.

Instead of searching for the physician, Merlin wandered in and brought forth his washbowl, quickly wiping the grime of the day off of his skin. He scrubbed and rubbed at his eyes and his cheeks, trying not to think about Gaius’s absence, about how alone he was in the room. His mind betrayed him, however, and his thoughts wandered into morbid things; how free he was in this big empty room and all the things he could do whilst no one was watching. No one was there to stop him. It was only him there. He could do whatever he wished to himself. He could lie down in the middle of the floor and just stare at the ceiling. He could etch pictures, names, and figures into the underside of Gaius’s benches. He could etch them into himself. He could carve and whittle and cut anything he wanted, anything that wasn’t wood. He could carve his face; carve a smile into his face because _oh_ was he tired of faking one.

Merlin stopped and let his hands fall back into the washbowl. He looked down into the water and watched the ripples as they slowly emanated from him. Suddenly he saw red, imagining that there was blood as well, pulled by the flow of the ripples and dying the water until he could see his reflection clearly in the dark pool.

Letting out a startled gasp he backed away from the bowl, hands shaking and berating himself for letting his mind wander into such gruesome things. He brought his hands to his face and pressed the heels of them into his eyes, desperately trying to clear his head but there was a mantra of voiceless words mocking him and recounting all of his failures, all of his doubts, all of his insecurities, all of his dread. His hands travelled to his temples and he pressed his fingers to them hard, shaking his head. The noise kept coming, beating down on him. He felt like hot, metal bands were forming around his heart as it began to pound and ache within his chest. He doubled over and pulled at his hair, growling in frustration. He even took to knocking himself in the back of his head a few times before he took a few deep, frantic breaths and stepped away. He needed to see someone. He couldn’t be alone anymore.

He rushed from the room, hair tousled and wet, fingers dripping with water, and eyes bright and red. He shook and jittered and held a steady pace, racing against his horrid thoughts. He didn’t want to feel like this. He needed it to stop. Things were supposed to be fine. Everyone was safe. Everyone was happy.

But he wasn’t.

Finally, he threw open the door and there . . . was no one. Arthur’s chambers were empty. He huffed and his heart hammered against the clenching bands that made his chest feel tight and stiff and warm. He wandered in, looking carelessly around the room and hoping that Arthur would just stroll in and spout off a list of chores he could distract himself with. But he didn’t.

Shakily, Merlin ran his hand along the arm of Arthur’s chair before slowly lowering himself down into it. He would wait. He would sit and wait and not move until Arthur returned. He didn’t trust himself to move. So, he just sat there.

 

After a long meeting about pressing and stressful issues, Arthur finally was able to retire. He sighed as he moved towards his door, running a hand down his face as he swung it open. There, in the center of his room, was Merlin, sat in his dining chair and staring at the wall. “Merlin?” he questioned, but the boy didn’t move.

Slowly he wandered closer, noting how small he looked, hunched over slightly as he was and hands clasped in his lap. Upon closer inspection, he discovered that he was shaking, small, jittery, mindless movements. “Merlin?” he called out again. When he received no answer, he stepped into his view and bent down to meet his eyes.

Merlin’s gaze wandered up to Arthur’s face and it disturbed the king how lost he looked. It were as if he did not know what to feel, each emotion battling for dominance inside of him. Startled, he took a step back. He couldn’t help but let out a sigh of relief when his servant cast his eyes away again, looking at the nothing in the distance.

“What are you doing?” Arthur questioned, concerned and confused. A small part of him told that the boy was drunk. However, a much larger part of him felt entirely wrong.

Merlin hummed, seeming to have forgotten that words were needed for proper speech.

“Merlin?”

“Oh,” he muttered, blinking a few times. “I was . . . I was—was . . .” He paused and took a hefty breath, looking puzzled and strained. “I was think . . . ing.”

Something about Merlin’s behavior sent a hot wave of concern over him that he could hardly explain, other than the overwhelming feeling of his servant being _off._

“About?”

Merlin didn’t answer.

“About what?”

“What?” Merlin asked, looking back at him, the bags under his eyes contrasting against his pale, pale skin, making Arthur wonder how he hadn’t noticed how bad off his friend had looked earlier.

“What are you thinking about, Merlin?” the king asked cautiously.

“You,” Merlin replied softly, looking away towards the window. “Them.”

“Who?”

“All . . . All—all . . .” His brow furrowed, as if he was trying to work out how exactly he was supposed to work his tongue. Then, with a jittering jaw, he continued. “All of . . . them; Gaius, Leon, G—Gwaine, Per—Percival, Gwen . . .” He trailed off.

Arthur’s eyes darted about Merlin’s body as he began to subtly rock back in forth in his seat. His hands kept gripping in and out of varying loose and tight fists. His breathing came quickly through his nose and his eyes held a haunted expression.

“What about them, Merlin?”

“All . . . of it. Everything,” he replied, not looking directly at his master, but in his vague direction. “The, um . . . Things they don’t . . . know.” Again he appeared confused by his own speech. “You don’t . . . you—you don’t . . . you don’t . . .” He trailed off once more and looked as if he were utterly offended; like his own mouth betrayed him by refusing to speak.

Arthur’s heart began to hammer in his chest as he confirmed that something was not right with his friend. “What do they not know, Merlin?” he asked, being sure to address the boy in hopes that it would hold him closer to sanity.

Merlin rotated his jaw and then licked his lips, brows knit together and eyes glassy. “I . . . em—um . . . erm—“ Suddenly, he clamped his mouth shut and turned back towards the window.

“What, Merlin?”

Startling the king, he finally performed a fairly drastic motion; shaking his head in refusal. He did not wish to speak if he could not do so properly. He did not want Arthur to think him anymore of a fool than he already believed he did.

“Merlin?”

Again, he shook his head, but only slightly this time.

Arthur sighed and paced around Merlin’s chair until he was between his servant and the window, blocking his view. There he leaned over him and requested in a soft voice, offering his hand, “C’mon.”

Merlin’s eyes widened in question as he stared up at the king.

“I was just speaking with Gaius. I think we should pay him a visit,” he elaborated.

“What?” Merlin breathed, despite his previous defiance. His mind raced, churning through different reasons as to why Arthur would want this. Why Arthur would want to get rid of him. Why Arthur would hand him over to a physician. Why Arthur would think that he needed to be doctored. Was there truly something wrong with him? Something so disturbingly unsatisfying that Arthur would banish him from his site. Was it simply and excuse? Did he not care for Merlin at all? Had his tolerance run dry? Had there ever been any hint of friendship whatsoever?

“Merlin,” Arthur said, more urgently, placing a hand on the boy’s shoulder when he began to breath and rock at an even quicker pace.

All of these years throwing on a false smile and hiding all of this pain and the one man he praised the most wanted him gone, dealt with. All of the hardship and sacrifice was for nothing. All of the screams hidden behind glistening, toothy smiles would remain unheard. Arthur didn’t want him. He knew it seemed like help but his doubts told him it was not, that it was deception rather.

The grip on his shoulder tightened and he looked pointedly back at Arthur with round, white eyes. “Are you alright?” the king asked.

And Merlin froze. He froze and his breath caught in his throat as his mind wrapped around the question. It was a simple yet heavy phrase. Hundreds upon hundreds of times he had answered this question and yet, there, sitting in Arthur’s chair, he wanted to change his answer. But it was so hard. It was so painfully different to tell the truth, to say that he was unwell. It was as if he had forgotten how to frown, how to feel anything that wasn’t a feigned joy. And, though his eyes welled with tears, he smiled.

Arthur looked hopeless and lost at the boy’s response and took a step back. Something was deeply troubling Merlin and his mind was in desperate need of healing. After a moment’s thought, he took action and hoisted a startled Merlin onto his feet.

“What are you—“

“I’m taking you to Gaius.”

Merlin jerked out of his grip and backed away from his king. At last he found the will to shake his head.

“Merlin,” Arthur pleaded.

“No, no, no . . .” Merlin muttered, barely audible, to himself.

“Please, Merlin, just let him take a look at you.”

Merlin’s back hit the wall beside the window and he continued to shake his head, a mantra of side to side jerks as his face scrunched up in woe. Arthur’s words became a blur to him as tears poured over onto his cheeks. He felt strong arms on his shoulder and he knew that someone was worrying over him. So, naturally, he smiled. His grin was wide and frightening as salty, hot tears continued to roll down his face and drip off his chin. Arthur did not stop, however, and his frantic voice became an overwhelmingly loud buzz in his head. He clamped his hands over his ears and thrashed his head in denial, not even fully remembering what the question was any longer. When the king refused to let him be, he panicked. He wanted to get away. He needed Arthur to think he was alright. He couldn’t see him like this. He became deadweight and sunk to the floor, spine rigid against the stone wall as he slid down its height. His face hurt from the stretch of his smile but he kept it plastered there as a desperate attempt to keep his joyous reputation stable. When Arthur continued to fret, leaning over him, his booming voice echoing through his mind, he just wanted it all to go away.

Arthur finally let go when Merlin started banging his head against the wall, hoping that the boy would stop if he relented. He did not, however, and the king rushed back in, placing his hand between the wall and Merlin’s skull, bruising his knuckles but sparing his friend from another blow. His other hand groped for Merlin’s arms and tugged at him to try and yank him away from the wall. Merlin screamed and thrashed, flashing a grin between bouts of yells. Arthur yelled for the guards and mindlessly summoned Gaius as he held Merlin pinned to the floor. As he waited, alone with the frantic boy, he gathered him into his arms, saving Merlin’s head from the hard floor. For what seemed like forever, his legs thrashed and kicked. It wasn’t until shortly before Gaius arrived that the bucking stopped as he found his ward, sobbing through a wide grin and into the king’s tear soaked shoulder.

 

Sat in his chair, Merlin’s eyes remained downcast as his mentor and his master spoke in hushed tones at the far end of the physician’s quarters. His eyes were red and raw and his lips were dark and sore from smiling and wailing. Part of him wanted to hear what they were saying but another part of him never wanted to find out. Most of him, however, was too distracted by the haze induced by Gaius’s medicines to care.

He knew they were concerned. He knew that they were discussing different ways he could be helped. He knew they talked of causes, effects, and preventions. However, it didn’t stop his hands from shaking or his mind from concluding ludicrous things: Arthur suggesting he retire from servitude, Gaius deeming him mad, them both conspiring against his sanity . . . His jaw clenched as he became angry with himself. He tried to bite down on his cheek to draw away from the pain in his mind but he did not wield enough strength to break the skin, his muscles relaxed by unpronounceable medications.

Merlin looked up at his mentor as he left Arthur’s side, slowly venturing over to where he sat. A callused hand found his shoulder and a kind, aged face looked down at him. Though he could never remember Gaius’s exact words, he knew what they meant. Thus, he let the man guide him to his bed where he obediently sat.

Futile attempts were made at getting the boy to sleep. Gaius had insisted that they not use any sedatives in fear that he’d become dependent on them. When Merlin could not simply be reasoned with or comforted, he returned to the king.

“Perhaps you can persuade him,” he suggested with a thin lipped smile.

Arthur nodded and made his way into the back room. Pushing the door lightly open, he entered to find his servant perched on the edge of his bed, leaning forwards and staring up at the white sky through the window.

“It’s nearly morning,” Arthur commented as he strolled inside.

Merlin hummed.

“You should really get some sleep.”

The boy merely grunted again.

Taking a deep breath, Arthur came closer, looking down at the frail form before him. “You’ve got the day off, you know. You could sleep the day away, if you want.”

Merlin’s expression became pained for a moment before he composed himself with a swallow and a lick of the lips. “You can’t get rid of me that easily,” he mumbled, his usually mirth absent and his cheery demeanor, diminished.

“I’m not trying to get rid of you,” Arthur retorted, taking another step closer.

“Why not?”

“What?”

“Might as well. You don’t . . . you wouldn’t . . .”

Suddenly, Merlin found himself seated next to the king, him having plopped himself down on the bed beside him.

“Look at me, Merlin,” he ordered.

Nervously, he obeyed.

“You are not worthless. I appreciate all that you do for me. I suppose I just . . . thought it went without saying. However, if you want, if you need a break from our banter – or even to end the entire façade completely – all you need to do is let me know. Understand?”

Merlin blinked back at him. “No,” he whispered.

Arthur sighed. “Well . . . what I’m trying to say is . . . I know you are far more than some lanky farmhand, Merlin . . . You’re my friend, and . . . I am grateful for that.”

Eyes glazing over with unshed tears, Merlin found himself unable to look away from the compassionate expression on Arthur’s face. “I’m sorry,” he mouthed.

The king’s brow furrowed. “Whatever for?”

“Forgetting who I am,” Merlin clarified. “I’m sorry I forgot who we were. I’m sorry I got lost.”

“Don’t be,” Arthur murmured in a gentle voice. “We all forget who we are to people sometimes.” He put his arm around Merlin’s shoulder and smiled warmly.

Merlin’s lips twitched and he looked down at his feet, cold against the bare floor of the chilled room. He scrunched his toes, remembering that he could feel and that he was cold. For a moment he leaned into Arthur breathing a soft, “Thank you,” into his ear.

Patting his shoulder one last time, Arthur rose from the bed. “Get some sleep, Merlin,” he advised and, for the first time in a long time, Merlin smiled, his toothy grin a truly genuine expression. Arthur watched from the door as he crawled beneath the covers and struggled to keep his eyes open. The boy was only vaguely aware of his friend leaving as he finally was coaxed into rest.

 

When Morning came, Merlin was still beyond tired, but he rose out of bed without a problem. He couldn’t decide if he had been expecting it, or if it had been an utter surprise, but Arthur was still there, with Gaius, sitting silently. The king had been running stressed fingers through his hair when Merlin had entered and he looked up past a wrinkled brow with glazed eyes. Curiously, he got to his feet marched towards Merlin with a determination that made the boy think that not even the gods could have stopped Arthur in that moment. Then, he was crushed in a tight, warm hug. He could feel Arthur’s tears on his nightshirt and his hot breath against his skin as he whispered, “Oh, Merlin.”

Merlin looked past him at Gaius, who too appeared tired. The old man looked at him with vacant eyes, as if he had just emptied himself of all woes and secrets. No longer did his mentor’s eyes look wise. They looked sorry.

Looking back at Arthur, the boy froze and sucked in a breath, going stiff with fear, but Arthur only hugged him tighter. “I’m sorry,” he continued into the crook of Merlin’s neck. “I don’t understand how you could have masked so much pain.” His voice cracked and it made Merlin shudder. “And I’ve hurt you more than anyone, and I’m sorry . . . I am so sorry . . . I would never . . . I couldn’t ki—“

Merlin hugged him back, gripping on to the loose fabrics of his shirt as his legs gave out. Arthur supported him, gently joining him as they sunk to the floor. And as they shook and as they wept and as Gaius looked on as his own fatherly tears rolled down his aged face, Arthur promised that he would never let go of the boy in his arms. Merlin, clinging on for dear life, began to smile, because, for all the pains that wracked their frames with sobs and wails, they were no longer as weighted as they once were. Their pain radiated off of them with each shake and tear. The burdens he carried were eased by Arthur’s strong hold, throwing them up and off of him. He felt so light, so free, that he feared he would drift away. So he clung to Arthur, all the while smiling, knowing that everything would be okay . . .


End file.
